When Someone Dies

 The hole in his heart

Was good for fish;

They could use the red slides

To ease their way

To the oxygen mill teeming with its useful pulses.

Particles of light walked

On brittle memories

and a shaft of dark

Cast a net to hide the fish.

Through the hole postcards could be seen swimming—

And fishes reviewed the stamps,

Locating the origins of memories

Fed the oxygen mill messages.

It was a splendid symbiosis—

Death was a natural event—

Nothing unusual exists.